


his smile warmed you in ways my love never could

by ak2tagawa



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gore, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Minor Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein, Other, Pining, Reader-Insert, Requited Unrequited Love, The Author Regrets Everything, Unrequited Love, unspoken feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ak2tagawa/pseuds/ak2tagawa
Summary: Laying with you by the sea, Jean Kirschtein isn’t quite sure why he’s remembering your expression from all those years ago.That small upturned grin that he earned as you both laid in the crimson foliage, staring at one another’s faces. He isn’t sure why your teenage face is burned into his mind, earning a harsh embrace from his heart. He recalls the curve of your face, the impression of the sunset on your complexion, your blood-stained cheeks, the way your eyes crinkled as you cried, the way you spoke his name. Perhaps it’s because all of those years ago, he finally saw you for the soul that you wished Eren would see you as. The benevolence of your heart finally becoming clear after getting that same heart demolished in the blink of an eye.Or maybe it’s because he loves you more endearingly and wholeheartedly than he ever loved Mikasa Ackerman.And it isn’t only this moment. Jean Kirschtein relives each and every moment with you.
Relationships: Eren Yeager/Reader, Jean Kirstein/Reader, Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	his smile warmed you in ways my love never could

**Author's Note:**

> There are spoilers for seasons one through three, however, there are no spoilers for season four!! Please read with caution!

Sharp thorns bled crystalline wounds which dropped from your despairing eyes. The mangled, ivy tangled corpses of your comrades swam within your vision-- their blood painting vermillion roses which lay mockingly at your hands. You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Perhaps Captain Levi to soar in as their knight in shining armor. Commander Erwin to step in and massacre the titans before they got too close. Your own legs to move as fast as they could take you, bounding and leaping to the nape of those beasts. The scene in front of you revealing the slaughter of titans rather than your friends. 

Cruel is the fair lady of fate. Heartless and arrant. Tyrant of your shaken frame and puppeteer over your ODM gear. Her steady hands clipping the wires and stalling the gears, leaving you immovable in the vast valley. Hands soaked in cardinal blood, fingers sawed off from the wild thrashing of your blades, knees wet with the veins which danced down the mouth of titans. In the heat of battle and the incessant hammering of your heart-- you were as useless as the dead. 

The surrounding mountains seemed to lament as they bowed their heads with mighty roars. The trees swayed in the breeze tainted with the metallic taste of blood as if dancing to the steady stream of your hollow cries. The grass whistled it's tunes of agony as the sky howled with remorse. Your fighting spirit dimmed with the setting sun as your tears fell off your cheeks with the pace of the raging river. 

Titans clamored and crawled through the infinite flow of bodies, mouths watering in lust for the resistance of the scouts. Drawing closer and closer to your position, the rhythmic beat of their footsteps falling in line with the smacking of your heart against your ribs. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. Whether or not the blood which drowned your skin was yours or your fallen comrades. As you shook each disfigured carcass, you could no longer care for remembering their names nor their birthdays. Their favorite meal and places. Their ambitions and past regrets. 

Impossible screams pried through their open lips. Wailing, ghastly sounds which made you wince back in horror. The noise echoed with the harsh scratches of one’s throat and the horrid sting of broken sobs. The grievous tone of regret wrapped like a noose around the pity of oneself. It was only when the mourning stalled that you noticed the burn of your throat and the inability to voice your deplore-- bringing you to the realization that it was you all along. How ironic it is, to lose one’s ability to fight and then their right to weep out into the growing twilight. 

And yet, as your eyes flicker to the fallen form of Eren Yaeger, observing the remainder of his father figure becoming crushed in a titan’s jaws-- you feel the urge to get to your feet and rush ahead. To hold his hand tightly within your own and bawl out the last of your true emotions before greeting death with a corrugate gaze. To feel the dust on his lips and dirt of his cheek. To stroke his matted hair and brush his tears with the tip of your calloused thumb. To feel the love of another pulse so vibrantly against your chest. To look into the eyes which reflected every whim and impulse of your heart. If you were to become another maimed adornment to this blood-soaked plain, then you would do so after confessing your endearment for Eren Yaeger. 

Your feet slipped and stumbled over limbs and carrions. Your back slouched and your lungs heaved. Your lips lapped at the taste of copper blood. Your legs bawled at the movement and your severed fingers burned in the wind. Every inch of your stature pleaded you to stop, to sit alone and face the final moments of your time. To relish in the courage which inhibited your heart for a single moment. But you didn’t stop nor sit. You did not give an ounce of attention to those thoughts nor did you listen to the aching of your muscles. 

You attempted to yell out his name once, twice, perhaps three times. Nothing but whispered croaks and haunted cracks left your parted lips, dropping from your tongue. He was closer now, close enough to see the freckles that burned into his flesh. The blood which dripped from his temple. The individual strands of hair which faltered over his burdened eyes. The fawning of black eyelashes kissing his dirtied cheeks. He was  _ so _ close, close enough to touch if you threw yourself across the battlefield. Close enough to where he could hear your strangled yelps and greet you with open arms. Despite your surroundings piling up with corpses, the infected wounds seeping into your veins, the blood spatter which resided on your face, and the hysterical shirking of your heart to remain immobile-- you smiled. 

It was the soft up-turn of your lips, nearly unnoticeable as beads of sunshine graced your complexion. It was a sigh of relief. The notion that you could die in the arms of your lover, hearing passionate murmurs of fondness leave his lips. To hear the phrase which you yearn for so vehemently from your comrade. And in the climax of your gallantry, you opened your mouth to shout his name.

“Eren!” 

Your legs lost their strength, buckling, and pummeling your frame to the ground. Your hands shook fervently before landing in your lap. Your eyes widened and trembled, tears licking at the edge-- threatening to spill out over your rusted cheeks. Your lips fluttered before slamming shut, an iron gate presiding over your tongue. Your eyes blinking again and again, almost frantically as overwrought laughter racked your lips. As Mikasa Ackerman clutched Eren Yeager’s limp form, his name uncontrollably departing from her throat, your will to continue fighting left with it. 

Mikasa’s thumb rubbed the skin under his eyes, wiping away his tears. She felt the waves of his hair and brushed the dirt from his countenance. His dust-covered lips parted as their tears mixed with one another in an impassioned embrace. They were in their own world, holding onto one another as if they might meet death if they dropped their clutches. You were close enough to see the love in their eyes. Close enough to see that every word Mikasa said was filled to the brim with endearment. Close enough to see that even if Eren made no response, he was feeling everything she whimpered. Close enough to see that you would never be Mikasa Ackerman to Eren Yeager. 

You seemed to finally take notice of the titans around you and yet you did not cry out or bury your head in your hands. With a sorrowful laugh, you fell onto your back-- eyes skimming over the reds and oranges of the fading heavens. You  _ wanted _ to die. To meet your sealed fate here in the valley. There was nothing left for your ambitions. Nothing worth living for in this tortuous hell.  _ You’re _ nothing in the grand scheme of things. After all, what is one death among hundreds? In more ways than one, you’ve already died today. So what’s once more? 

“Get up” Jean Kirschtein stood above you, his own cries smothered with a stoic expression. 

You chuckled dryly before waving your hands in the air, indicating that you had no plans of moving from your grave. His eyes were red and swollen, freckles smeared across the bridge of his nose. Blood tainted his pink lips, dancing down his chin and across his neck. Jean’s hair was wild and unkempt matching the look in his eyes. In his own expression, you could see the reflection of your own hopelessness and despair. Your fellow soldier stood there for a moment, eyes not daring to dart to the scene unfolding in front of him, before taking a seat next to you and staring at the same burning clouds. 

“Jean?” 

He hummed in response. It was a noise entangled with melancholy tones and a lack of concern. You thought it matched his thin-lipped frown. You’re not sure exactly when you turned your head to look at the teenager, but you did-- admiring the way his dark lashes brushed against the bottom of his brows. You admired the way his hair skid over his forehead, the way his tears tumbled ever-so-elegantly against his filthy cheeks, the way his tongue skimmed over his chapped lips, the tiny scars which carved in his nose and chin. And when Jean Kirschtein’s own eyes flicked over to your own, you nearly chuckled. 

You were both two sides of the same coin. Heartbroken reflections playing on your irises. Mangled bodies forgotten in the dismal light of paradise and the strangled coughs of a long-awaited defeat. For the first time, you truly saw who Jean Kirschtein was. Not the narcissistic boy who put on a haughty smirk and arrogant attitude. Not the soldier who preferred to wear a mask in a half-hearted attempt to save himself from the pains of battle. You saw the fragile humanity within him. The vulnerability of man. As if the angels themselves descended from kingdom come to shatter his pride as one would drop a vase on the ground. To reveal his true nature just once before your death. To give you some small victory as if to repent for your emptied heart, pumping out nothing but bemoans. 

“I’m glad I’m dying with you.” 

You were crying again, unbeknownst to yourself. They weren’t saddened wails nor were they pitying snivels. You cried for Jean, for Erwin, for Historia, for Mikasa, for Eren. You cried for everyone but yourself. Jean always found that beautiful. Not once had he seen you shed tears for yourself, not after you were told of your parent’s death, not after that stray dog you took in died, not after you attended your friend’s funeral after a particularly challenging mission. It was so odd, that you cried for all of those individuals. Such a selfless creature you are, putting yourself on the line for others time and time again. Jean always thought you’re such an angelic being, though he did not realize until years later. 

Laying with you by the sea, Jean Kirschtein isn’t quite sure why he’s remembering your expression from all those years ago. That small upturned grin that he earned as you both laid in the crimson foliage, staring at one another’s faces. He isn’t sure why your teenage face is burned into his mind, earning a harsh embrace from his heart. He recalls the curve of your face, the impression of the sunset on your complexion, your blood-stained cheeks, the way your eyes crinkled as you cried, the way you spoke his name. Perhaps it’s because all of those years ago, he finally saw you for the soul that you wished Eren would see you as. The benevolence of your heart finally becoming clear after getting that same heart demolished in the blink of an eye. Or maybe it’s because he loves you more endearingly and wholeheartedly than he ever loved Mikasa Ackerman. 

And it isn’t only this moment. Jean Kirschtein relives each and every moment with you. 

From your first meeting where you grit your teeth and fluttered your eyes to keep from punching him to your first time using your ODM gear. He remembers the laughter which slipped from your mouth as you fell into the dirt. He remembers when he walked you to the medical center after you got a little too cocky with Shadis. He remembers when you graduated and the way your eyes lit up as you heard Eren’s speech. He remembers your promise to always stay by Sasha’s side. He remembers your grin after hearing Eren’s praise at your decision to join the scouts. He remembers your chuckle as you pulled Armin out into the rain with you, dancing in the puddles. 

Jean remembers you cry for your fallen comrades. He remembers your steel resolve at the Battle of Trost. He remembers the way your hair stuck to your beaming face when everyone visited the hot springs near Connie’s village. He remembers the way you bite your lip when you're frustrated. He remembers your howl of fury as you slice through titan’s napes. He remembers the way you rub the back of your neck whenever Eren got too close. He remembers the way you sang on his birthday. He remembers the way you hummed when putting on your ODM gear. He remembers the way you sobbed on the anniversary of Marco’s death. He remembers the flush on your cheeks whenever Eren wrapped his cloak around your shoulders. He remembers you snorting the first time you meet Hange. He remembers you earnestly admitting you found Captain Levi attractive-- earning the incessant laughter from your comrades. He remembers the way you polish your blades. He remembers the way you bumped his shoulder. He remembers when you eagerly told him about your first kiss. He remembers the way you ruffled Mikasa’s hair. 

Jean remembers the way you fought at the final battle. He remembers the way you shrieked profanities as Reiner escaped into a cloud of dust. He remembers tending to your wounds. He remembers your smile as you ate dinner together. He remembers waking up with you next to him in the middle of a recon and wishing that every morning could greet him like that. He remembers when you punched Floch in the face after he said a distasteful comment about Armin. He remembers how you played poker with Sasha and Connie. He remembers how you jumped straight into the ocean before anyone else. He remembers how you splashed him with water. He remembers how you collected shells to make you and him matching necklaces. He remembers the way you looked at Eren for a beat too long. He remembers how you prepared for battle. He remembers how the last years have been spent with you by his side. 

Jean remembers how Eren’s gaze could make you happier than anything Jean ever said. 

And now lying on the beach, a world away from where you both started-- Jean recalls your earnest to die with him. He recalls every breathtaking moment where he saw your smile. Jean Kirschtein remembers every second he’s been in love with you. Unlike the first time, he found himself lying on a battlefield with you, Jean is not heartbroken. He has not a care in the world as he holds onto your hand. The sea foams under your backs and licks at your wounds. The blood seeps its way into your lungs and yet neither of you interrupt the silence. The aged soldier cannot hear anything but the sound of his own breathing. He cannot feel anything other than your flesh. Jean simply wishes he realized earlier how he felt. He wishes he knew that he loved you all those years ago. He wishes that the last years could have been spent kissing your ashen lips and holding you as you sleep. He wishes that he didn’t have to confess his love for you on his deathbed. 

Jean says your name so delicately, so slowly as if he’s afraid you’ll miss it. It’s a croaking noise, muffled by the decay of his own soul. It's wrapped in adorement and encircled with a melancholy mood. It’s your turn to hum in response as you stare at the rising sun. Jean chuckles at this, rubbing a circle on your blood-stained hand, fingers missing from that battle all those years ago. The noise which left your throat is not pitiful nor sad. There's a twinge of what he assumes is happiness, perhaps relief. He thinks it matches the slight upturn of your lips. He doesn’t shift his gaze over to you, settling on watching the stars twinkle out of existence as sunlight streams through the clouds before beginning to speak once more. 

“I-” 

You cut him off abruptly, a shrill cough forcing its way out of your throat. It takes you a moment to compose yourself through your wheezing. And for the first time, Jean notices your crying. They’re empathetic and heavy sobs. They're taking everything you have, they fill your chest and your eyes. They take the form in your veins and reveal themselves from the soft shaking of your hands. Jean has never seen you so emotionally vulnerable. So fragile. It hits him so painfully hard. You’re no longer crying for him or Erwin or Marco or Eren. The hysterical cries which leave your lips are for you and you alone. The vanity which was strayed far away from your heart for so long has finally taken root. The angelic creature is no more as your vision begins to fade. The last of your life force is used to muster a single sentence which rings in Jean's ears as if it's an echo. 

_ “I love you, Eren”  _

There's a bout of vehement and despairing laughter as silence fills the air and your hand becomes limp in Jean’s own. The thundering of the waves slam onto the beach beside you, the shrill whistle of the wind seems to scream in his ears. The grains of said become sharp and rough, the blood on your hands begins to smell pungent as the scent of death slithers its venomous way up Jean’s noise. The laughter contorts into screams of agony. The sound is maddened and abhorrent. It wrenches open his eyes as he desperately shakes your shoulders, loathing the way your eyes never blink nor dart in his direction. He despises the way your lips don't crack into a beaming grin, the way your body does not sit up to nudge his shoulder-- snorting at his reaction. He hates the way you don't assure him it's a joke. Jean detests how heavy the shell necklace becomes as he catches sight of your own, bathed in a vermillion sea. A lamenting tone soaks into his skin as he crashes down onto your chest. How cruel lady fate has become. How arrant and unbecoming. 

With your haunted open eyes and the stream of blood dripping from your ajar mouth, Jean Kirschtein cried for you, wailing his deplores before being washed away into the sea-- still holding your hand, confessions of love limp on his lips. The life in his eyes drowned in the whispers of a brewing storm. Your corpses soaked in the water as rain poured from the heavens. As if mocking remorse for the death of two broken soldiers. The sky cried for both you and Jean.  For all those years ago, you truly died that day, but in contrast-- 

Jean Kirschtein found a reason to keep living. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I tried my hand at angst and I don't think it turned out very well. I'd love to hear your criticisms, critiques, and overall opinions in the comments! I honestly could not get this idea out of my head and I sobbed the entire time writing this :( I just love Jean so much and it absolutely crushed me to write this, but I've been in a mood for angst. Anyway, as this is my first time writing angst I really hope I did the ideology of it justice. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading!!


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